


contact

by euriele



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1974699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euriele/pseuds/euriele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker's been sending Wash messages for weeks.</p>
<p>None of them get through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	contact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sparrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparrows/gifts).



You start sending Wash messages after he's captured.

It starts your first night in the rebel base, after you've been given a group of teenagers to make into soldiers and learnt from a mercenary that the guy who has your leader may very well be torturing them right now. He tells you this in a quiet undertone, tells you that Locus is the scariest motherfucker he's ever met. Shows you a few choice scars to get his point across. It's enough to make you feel sick, and it's more than enough to occupy you thoughts all through introductions with your new squad. In fact, it's the reason you're lying awake in your bunk right now, helmet in your hands and eyes fixated on the patterns in the steel ceiling.

It's hard to think about what Wash is going through at the hands of Locus. He could already be dead or dying or worse and you're just laying here, safe and sound in your bunk with the snores of Caboose in the bunk below to lull you to sleep.

Kimball told you that you'll be able to mount a rescue as soon as your men are trained properly and ready for what's out there. But you're not a soldier. The kids you've got don't stand a chance. Neither you or Caboose are soldiers. In fact, the only actual soldier who could actually soldier out of your entire group was Wash, and now he's gone. You don't know how to train these kids.

You'll never get Wash back.

Sit up. Take deep breaths and slow your panicky mind. You're just over thinking it. After all, how hard can it be to train a little squad of kids? You've had Wash as a leader these past weeks. Follow his example, and train the kids how he would train them.

Stare at your faceless helmet in your hands. Debate for a moment before pulling it over your head. The HUD lights up, and you find yourself typing out a message to Wash:

 

> _Hey asshole. I'm coming to get you._

 

You try and send it; there's an error. Message pending, the little text in the bottom corner of the HUD says.

You're too far out of range.

Sigh. Pull your helmet off and set it aside.

Try again later.

 

*

 

The messages become a thing for you. At the end of the day, you type out what you've done that day, try to send it and sigh when the message gets added to the list of pending messages. Currently, you have 64. You mention the message thing to Felix one day, get told that when you're in range of Wash he'll get all the messages. But, considering you don't know how long it'll be until you're in range of Wash, it doesn't exactly comfort you.

You keep up the routine, though. Keep typing these messages at night. Tell him about the dumb Private Palomo you get stuck with; how Caboose's lieutenant is simultaneously the nicest and scariest guy you've ever met; that Grif's not taking his captain responsibilities seriously but his squad doesn't seem to care. Tell him about Felix and how much you want to punch the merc in the face. Tell him about Kimball, her anger and her frustration that she manages to keep bottled up so as to keep up the façade of bravery in the light of losing more soldiers. You tell him about failed training runs, about how you had no idea being a leader was this frustrating.

You tell him you miss him.

It's only a short message. One day you're so tired, so so tired of this war and the training and the constant waiting that you realise how much you miss him. You miss Wash, despite all the bickering. You miss that smart-ass with his lopsided smile, his tendency to slip into other languages when he's worked up. You miss the way he bites his lips, the way he rubs the back of his neck when he's agitated. You miss the scars you used to trace with your eyes, his bad bleach job that had the black roots showing through. You miss the way his voice would rise an octave when he's shouting at you. You miss the way he'd say your name, enunciating every single syllable in a way that would send your heart crazy.

You miss Agent Washington.

You miss him so much.

 

*

 

At the end of each message, you tell him you're coming to get him. You keep adding that onto the end of every message, reassuring him that you're going to come and rescue him. None of the messages get through, so Washington doesn't know that you're coming.

You guess it's more for you than him.

 

*

 

> _I know you're probably never going to get this message but... I guess I just need to say it: I miss you. I miss you so much, you fucking asshole. You pulled that stupid trick in the canyon and played the hero when you could've ran with the rest of us, and now I'm sat here just trying to get along without you. And boy, it's a lot harder in practice than in theory._
> 
> _See, I used to think about you leaving us. I used to think about Church coming back and then... I don't know, you taking off with Carolina and doing Freelancer stuff instead of hanging around with us. You were such a pain in the fucking neck. Always shouting about order and chores and training and drills and a millions other things I never wanted to do but you forced me to do anyway. God, I used to fucking hate you._
> 
> _You mean too much to me now. There, I said it. You mean a lot to me. I fucking care about you, Wash._
> 
> _And god, I miss you so much._

 

*

 

You can't recall the moment you realise you love him.

Maybe it's when you're laying in your bunk, staring at that steel ceiling yet again when you realise. You catch yourself in the middle of thinking about him, in the middle of remembering the days under the sun in the canyon. Only the happy days, of course. The days where it's too hot for armour, where you, Wash and Caboose sit out in the sun in your shorts and just enjoy yourselves for once. You think about Wash, about how his hair shines under the sunlight, how his scars disappear under the bright light. You think about how he looks so much younger, smiling and laughing for a change.

Maybe it's as you think about him saying your name, exaggerating the syllables in a way that should be made illegal. Maybe it's when you think about his mutterings in foreign languages - the way he'd randomly slip into French or Russian just to mess with you. Maybe it's when you think about him smiling; when you remember him frowning at something, dark eyebrows creasing together while he bites his bottom lip. Maybe as you remember the morning you walked in on him getting up, caught him with his back to you. You saw the scars criss-crossing across the skin up and down his spine, the muscles in his back moving as he stretched. You heard him murmur something in a language you don't know, voice hoarse from sleep. He turned, saw you standing there. And he offered you that lopsided smile.

That's when you realise you love him.

 

*

 

You send the message the next day. It's the shortest one you've ever sent. Just three words:  _I love you._

It's the last one you send.

 

*

 

There are 127 messages pending.

You can feel a lump in your throat as you draw closer and closer to Wash. You don't know how you're going to find him. You don't know if he's going to be broken or dead or fine. You don't know what Locus has done to him, what kind of conditions he's been kept in. Frankly, you're quite scared of what you're going to find. You had to deal with Washington after the Sidewinder ordeal. You don't fancy having to face Washington after whatever Locus has done to him.

But when the door flies open, you find yourself face-to-face with Wash.

And he's _alive_. He's  _okay_.

"Wash?" you choke out, lowering your rifle.

"Tucker?" he asks as he lowers his own.

There's a flashing message in the corner of your HUD. All 127 messages have been sent, it says.

All of them - all of your rants and one-sided conversations and your fears - finally transmit. And that tiny message, that little thee-word message, is the last one to transmit. So, it'll be the first one Wash sees.

You see him freeze up, know he's just now getting that message on his HUD. And you tense yourself, ready for the inevitable rejection that's coming your way.

Instead, you get this message:

 

> _I love you too._

**Author's Note:**

> requested by sparrows/soaringsparrows on tumblr


End file.
